


The Possession

by cleopatraslibrary



Series: The Looming Phantom of l'Opéra de Paris [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Crush, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lots of fun references to "The Phantom of the Opera", M/M, Murder, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possession, Pre-Relationship, Rape/Non-con Elements, Regarding the Opera House Itself, Ryan's POV, not between main characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 15:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleopatraslibrary/pseuds/cleopatraslibrary
Summary: It's all a matter of interest, you see.Ryan Bergara secured a great location for the BF Unsolved Supernatural season finale. It's got everything: the guillotine, opera singing, a ghost who lurks within the shadows. Except, only Ryan will truly understand what's lurking behind the mask of indifference.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: “The Phantom of the Opera” is the work of Andrew Lloyd Webber and is not my intellectual property. I intend no copyright infringement and seek no financial gain from this work. Any lyrics sung by characters written by Webber will be credited in the notes. This work of fiction is purely for entertainment purposes. 
> 
> “The Phantom of the Opera” (book and musical) was inspired by a real opera house in Paris. However, while there are some real life aspects included, most of the information is exaggerated and fictionalized. (Except for the fact that Gaston Leroux [the original author] always claimed the Opéra national de Paris was in fact haunted. That was too cool not to include.) So, I am using “Opéra de Paris” as the name of the opera house, but most of the history written is fictionalized. 
> 
> Now, for a more personal note, I love reading possession fanfics about BFU. But for some odd reason, there's definitely something missing when it comes to Ryan being possessed in the ship tag. Now, I'm not saying Shane's turning into a Boogara in this fic, but. We'll see.
> 
> There will be a sequel to this! Everything is currently in the works. I hope you all enjoy and don't forget to leave feedback and comments! Much love <3

“So, tell me, Ryan, where will we be going for this season finale?” Shane looked at Ryan, then towards the iPhone in Ryan's hand with an exaggerated curious expression. They were sitting at their desks, eating the lunch they had just picked up from Chipotle.

“There’s no need to look so dour, Shane. I know we usually consult together on where we’re going to be going for the season, but uh, I needed to make sure we’d get approval first.” It was true; though Ryan knew how disinterested Shane could be in old, haunted tourist attractions, whenever there was a bit of history connected to a location, he didn’t want to get Shane’s hopes up unnecessarily. While Ryan obviously argued there were ghouls haunting most locations, Shane didn't think there were, so anything that was out of the norm already broke a most likely boring cycle for the big guy.

“Ooh, approval? Are we travelling across the world on company time to fulfill our whimsy?” He raised his eyebrows and looked delighted by the prospect.

Ryan wheezed. “Damn it, dude, I have to cut that out before I post it, but-- yes. Yes, we are.”

Any look of feigned delight bled away, turning into confusion. “Ry?”

“We’ve got approval to go to, uh, Opéra de Paris.”

Shane’s eyes widened comically and he pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. “The one that _The Phantom_ \--”

“-- _of the Opera_ was inspired by? Yep,” he replied, popping the 'p'. He grinned as Shane's face broke out into a bright smile.

Shane jumped up and let out an excited shout, hopping and twirling around like mad. Ryan laughed at him, before Shane said, “Uh uh, get up here!” and pulled the camera out of his hands and placed it carefully onto the table. Before Ryan could protest, Shane grabbed onto his wrists and hauled him up onto his feet. “Dance with me, Ryan!”

Before Ryan even had a chance to react, Shane gripped onto his hands and began a very loose rendition of a tango, loudly singing in a low falsetto, “In sleep he sang to me! In dreams, he came!”

Their coworkers started clapping and wolf-whistling, and Ryan knew it was going to end up on everyone’s Instas. He heard distinctly from Curly, “That better not be the only place he came,” while someone else questioned, “Do you think Ryan finally popped the question?”

Ryan rolled his eyes as Shane continued (definitely yelling more than singing, but whatever), “That voice which calls to me and speaks my name!” Shane rocked their arms back and forth and let loose one of his hand, so he could viciously twirl him in a circle. Singing once again, he belted, “And do I dream again? For now I find! The Ph _a_ \--” he drew out the high note and their friends cheered around them, “--ntom of the Opera is there! Inside my mind!” With one last twirl, he spun away gracelessly from Ryan.

Ryan collapsed in his chair and wheezed. They were going to be teased mercilessly, but man, it was worth it. And if his heart beat a little faster than usual, that was his business alone.


	2. Airports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Airport anxiety and musical conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unedited&unbetad

Carelessly, Ryan tossed his outfits into his suitcase. Fuck, he couldn’t believe he actually fell asleep. He was nervous for this trip, even more than he usually was when visiting haunted locations.

He breathed out anxiously, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 3:54 a.m. He was behind, shit! Ryan shoved his phone back into his pocket, and patted himself down to make sure he had his wallet, his keys, his small vial of holy water--

He had it all.

He grabbed a pair of black shoes and shoved them into the inner pockets of his still-open bag. He mentally ticked off what he had: toothbrush, toothpaste, gel he wouldn’t use, the outfit for the opera, his wandering clothes, his tourist clothes, his ghost hunting clothes, underwear, t-shirts. What was he missing? Right!

Ryan sped walked across his apartment to grab extra batteries and then to the bathroom to grab his shampoo. He tapped the side of the bottle as he walked and threw the items on top of the pile in his suitcase.

He tallied everything again, and when he was confident he had everything, he zipped it shut.

Ryan slung his carry-on backpack over his shoulder and, as quietly as he could, opened his bedroom door and rolled his suitcase down to the front of his house. His roommates would still be asleep and he knew they’d get pissy if he accidentally woke them up. He still had to go pick up Shane and then they’d be off to the airport, to meet up with the crew.

It was going to be a stressful morning.

-

It _was_ a stressful morning. Shane had fallen asleep, just like Ryan had, but he was pretty much prepared to go already. The traffic going into LAX was disgusting, as it always is, but even more-so when the sun started climbing over the horizon. Their coffee was sub-par, the ticket machines were buffering, and the only place that was selling a decently cheap breakfast was the McDonald’s on the second level of the airport.

Like he said. Stressful.

Once they met up with Devon and company, however, Ryan calmed down a little. He was still jittery, though, and compulsively, he drummed his fingers against the popsocket to listen to the soft clicking sounds. After they all grabbed their tickets, they walked through the crowded airport as a pack.

Ryan zoned out.

It wasn’t like he tried to zone out, or anything. He was just anxious and so he kind of got locked inside his mind for a bit, and before he knew it, he was handing his passport to someone in the baggage claim, after having lifted his suitcase onto the scale.

He made a little sound, just a small acknowledgement, to himself. Ah, well. He’d been in worst positions in the past and it wasn’t like he was panicking. This was fine. The woman behind the counter gave him a weird look, but didn’t hesitate to give him back his passport when they were finished.

He checked his phone. It was 9:57. Their flight boards at 11:45. They had time -- plenty of time -- to get to their gate. It was fine.

Someone nudged his shoulder. Ryan turned and looked up at Shane, who was giving him a soft, concerned look. “You alright? Nervous about meeting these European ghosties?” His voice was only a _little_ mocking.

Ryan knocked into him with his shoulder. “Of course not -- I can’t wait for them to prove me right! Sure, I might be sacrificing my sanity for the cause, but I’m sure the boogaras will appreciate it.”

He hummed in agreement. “Plus,” Shane added conspiratorially, “the shaniacs already know that, while the lights may be on, nobody’s home.” He knocked on Ryan’s forehead and he wheezed.

“Fuck you, dude!”

“Only if you ask nicely.” He winked and the tips of Ryan's ears heated.

“Jesus Christ.” Ryan looked around, noticing they had slowed their pace a bit behind the rest of the group. He sped up. “What gate are we supposed to be going to?”

Shane matched his stride and looked down at his ticket. “We are going to . . .” He paused and squinted. “ . . . 72!”

“Alright.” They walked together in a comfortable silence. The soft chatter of the airport, the rolling of Shane’s carry-on, and the continuous hum of electricity helped calm Ryan’s nerves and he breathed out, finally relaxing when they reached their gate.

Ryan pulled his backpack off his back, setting it on one of the seats, and fell heavily into the next one. He sprawled out, groaning and pulling an arm over his eyes. God, he wanted a nap.

“We can’t always get what we want,” said Shane, in a sing-songy voice.

Blearily, Ryan blinked, looking over at Shane who sat down a seat away. “Fuck you,” he mumbled, before sitting up. He let out a long-suffering sigh and Shane laughs at him.

“Ooh, Ryan, your intricately-strung insults wound my heightened ego." Ryan rolled his eyes. "Usually you’re a ball of nerves, Ryan, when we go to these places. What happened? Already feel the imminent doom of not finding evidence?”

“Yuck it up, sir, yuck it up.” But he didn’t answer for a moment. “And I already had my mini-panic attack on the way here, just --” _not about ghosts._

The mirth drained away from Shane’s face. “You good, man?”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah, just tired, ‘s all.” He paused. “It’s gonna be weird playing skeptic this episode, though.”

Shane raised an eyebrow. “Pray tell, why wouldn’t you be freaking out about every creak beneath the floorboards?” He frowned. “There’s no wood in an opera house, right? It’s all marble. So you won’t even be able to say you heard creaky floorboards! Ha!”

Ryan rolled his eyes, but unwillingly smiled. “Yeah, it should be mostly marble and stone. And I thought you were a freak about _The Phantom of the Opera_. Did you read the book it was based off of?”

“Well, yes, but not since high school. And even then, I barely finished it, because it made me so sad.”

He stopped talking, but it sounded like there was more he wanted to say. Ryan signaled for him to continue, but Shane hesitated. Ryan waited, and after sitting in silence for a few seconds, Shane elaborated, “Well, see, I was introduced to _The Phantom_ when I was in high school. I spent a lot of time in the band room, but didn’t actually play any instruments -- I was part of the stage crew and played pretty minor roles in the musicals.”

“Ugh, don't mention stage crew. I’m having flashbacks to tech-week.” Ryan shuddered.

“As am I,” Shane replied dramatically. “Anyway, they used to put on musicals in the background to listen to when they weren't rehearsing and I fell in love with _The Phantom of the Opera_.”  He hesitated again, before going on. “See, I related pretty heavily with the Phantom. Like, his sadness and loneliness and shit. Have you ever listened to the opera?”

It might have been a segue to not talk about his past feelings, but Ryan didn’t mind. Instead, Ryan sucked in his bottom lip, holding back a smile. “Kinda,” he answered vaguely.

Shane raised a brow.

“Okay, like. Yes and no. I’ve watched up to a certain point, but it was in a different language, so --”

“Wait, a different language?” Now Shane looked intrigued, if also perplexed.

“Yeah, it’s on this cool YouTube channel that has a bunch of rare audio files and footage of _The Phantom_. I . . . I was listening to ASMR, right? Don't laugh, you know how shitty my sleeping can be!” he said, whacking Shane on the arm after he started snickering. “Anyway, I was listening to this one guy speak some weird Slavic language -- great sounds, by the way -- and it popped up in my recommended. So I was kind of curious, because it said their names as the video title, and it just seemed like a natural progression --”

“To go from Slavic mouth sounds to a Slavic language opera?” Shane interrupted.

“Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up and let me talk,” Ryan replied hotly. Shane put up his hands up in mock-deference. “And I _never_ clarified it was mouth sounds.”

“It was implied -- also, you just said 'clarified',” he pointed out.

Ryan stared at him. “Well, it wasn't. What was I talking about? Oh, yeah. Natural progression, yeah. So I clicked onto it and it was pretty slow in the beginning because I couldn’t understand a fucking word they were saying, but I found the timestamps and the first song, it was just the instrumental overture, y'know, it legitimately sent shivers down my spine and then I clicked on one of the first few songs where she, uh, Christine, was singing and I was out like a light.”

“So you’ve heard _The Phantom_ , but it was in another language and used as a sleeping aid.”

“I’m almost positive it was Polish.”

The look on Shane’s face sent Ryan and he doubled over, wheezing. “Holy shit, dude, your face!”

“Well, excuse me, Mr. “We’re-Going-To-The-Phantom’s-Opera-House”, ex _cuse_ me! You haven’t even heard the full musical or story. Ugh!” He sounded so scandalized and offended that it made Ryan laugh even harder and it wasn’t a second longer before Shane broke too.

They took a few minutes to collect themselves. This is nice. This felt normal. _And it was_ , Ryan reminded himself. They were normal. Great, even. This was going to be a good trip.

“I did read the book though,” Ryan said a few moments after the laughter died down. “You _are_ right that it was really sad. I felt a little bad for the guy, Erik, y’know? He was literally so ugly that no one wanted him. Like that’s fucked up. But he also murdered people, so eh?” He shrugged, almost helplessly.

Shane nodded in agreement. “The opera’s story is a bit problematic, but it really is beautiful. The songs, I mean. I get that you didn’t listen to the musical in full, but did you hear the Phantom sing at all?”

“I mean, I think so. One of the dude’s sounded really soft and mystical in this one solo part. And then near the end, it sounded like it he was insane. Like he laughed evilly and shit? That was _in_ sane. It actually woke me up one night, but I just fell right back to sleep after I turned it off.”

Shane hummed before saying, “My all time favorite Phantom will have to Michael Crawford. And maybe I’m just saying that because I grew up listening to his version with Sarah Brightman, but he just portrayed everything so beautifully. He was able to sing the Phantom’s pain, too. And really make it real. It connected you to his complex character.

“I’m not saying the other Phantom’s didn’t. A lot of people love Ramin’s Phantom and that’s fine. But, I just feel that Crawford’s version is the best version. It’s sultry and savory and scary.” Shane blinked. “Really fuckin’ scary. You can hear how his tone shifts throughout the entire piece. But he doesn’t make him completely sadistic; he nurses the Phantom’s character in such a way that somehow the listener could still justify his actions throughout the play.”

“Let me guess,” Ryan said sarcastically. “You were one of those people?”

Shane chuckled. “Yeah, a bit. Mainly because I related to him, though. I was lonely in high school. I had plenty of friends, but I never felt a complete connection to someone before. And it felt hard, connecting with my peers, anyway. All they wanted to do was have sex and drink, at least in my experience. While it certainly was an entertaining prospect, I overthought most of it. Plus, I have a weird face. That’s a double whammy when it comes to relating to the Phantom,” Shane added and Ryan laughed.

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re not quite as grotesque as the Phantom. You’re more like a cryptid than a corpse.”

“I can live with that. Hey, can you watch my bag? I’ve gotta . . .” he trailed off, signaling towards a bathroom sign.

Ryan waved him off. “Go ahead, I’m chilling here.”

“Thanks, man.” And he was gone.

Ryan slouched down into his seat, idly unlocking his phone and going onto Twitter. He scrolled aimlessly on his timeline, already bored. He felt eyes on the side of his head and looked over to see Matty recording.

He sat there and slowly widened his eyes, letting his lips curl into a sly, toothy smile. Behind his phone, Matty whisper-yelled, “Oh, shit!” before he lowered his phone and started typing. “Dude, that bit is scary as hell.”

“Who says it’s a bit?” Ryan replied, staring at Matty with the same look. Matty’s eyes met his and they lasted 13 seconds before they both started laughing.

Ryan turned away, opening Insta, and watching Matty’s story. He snickered quietly to himself when he saw the caption, “ricky goldsworth strikes again!!!!”. He re-posted it and added, “Who’s Ricky?!” before closing the app and opening up his bag. He grabbed his charger, and went to the wall of plugs to charge his phone. He might as well; usually he knocks out during flights, but he wanted to make sure he still had a full charge before they got on the plane.

Devon snagged his arm on the way back to his seat. “Hey, you alright? You seemed off before.”

“Yeah, I’m good now. Shane’s a great distraction.” He smiled softly at her.

“I’m sure he is. If you don't mind me asking, was it about where we’re going?” Devon looked vaguely nervous.

“No, not at all! Actually, I doubt we’re going to find anything anyway,” he replied offhandedly.

“Why do you say that, Ry?” Shane said from behind him. Ryan and Devon both looked up at him, startled.

Ryan shrugged it off first. “Because it isn’t haunted.”

Both of them looked at him like he was out of his mind. Which, sure.

Shane made a rolling motion with his hand, signalling for him to continue.

“Okay, well, I told you before I read the book?” Shane nodded. “Well, the author wrote in his preface that there was indeed a phantom, or ghost or whatever, in the opera house. He wrote nothing to substantiate who it may have been or where he saw the phantom, so it was widely disbelieved. I don't want to go into too much detail because I want your natural reaction for the camera.”

“I’m not going on camera,” Devon insisted, looking interested.

“Nope, you’ll find out when we get there.” Ryan felt smug. Just a bit, though. Not a lot.

He still let it bleed into his voice.

“That’s why you said you were going to be a Shaniac this episode,” Shane realized.

Ryan nodded. “Yeah! I might not be as antagonistic as you are, but I’ll definitely have loose lips.”

Shane smirked. “I think Unsolved is the wrong shoot for that phrase.”

Devon laughed and Ryan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Do y’all want to grab some food before the flight?” Devon asked, still smiling. “We’ve got about 30 minutes before boarding.”

“Sure, I’ll send Matty and them over and I’ll watch our stuff. Grab me a turkey wrap.”

Devon nodded. “Got it. C’mon Ry, let’s go see what they have.”

“Alright, mom.” She shot a glare at him and Ryan grinned, unrepentant. “Let’s go get food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who says i'm projecting onto shane?  
> me. i do. 
> 
> with a voice like shane's, he was obviously in theater. plus, i think he would love the acoustics of the opera. 
> 
> please leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed! i'll be posting every wednesday from here on out. thanks for reading!
> 
> these are the two youtube channels mentioned btw:  
> easyASMR (https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCLQ9fyHY7lIMATzUsaqE2IA)  
> let your fantasies unwind (https://www.youtube.com/user/freestylejump126)
> 
> and then, the polish phantom of the opera:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=scbZ-nge6N0&t=5709s


	3. The Opera House (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans and histories described.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.

“Man, this has got to be the nicest place we’ve ever been to.”

Shane was right; they had barely stepped into their room and already it was better than all of the motels they’d gone to previously _combined_. The morning sun peaked through the curtains and Ryan couldn’t help but walk up to them and whipped them open. Natural lighting filled the room, striking a stark contrast between the white linens and the dark oak floors. The view outside was beautiful, too; almost a postcard of what was to be expected on a Parisian street.

Ryan grinned. “Yeah, well. We had some leftovers in the budget to spend a little extra on actual locations.” He turned around and looked at Shane, who was still loitering by the door next to their bags. He seemed like he didn’t know what to do. “You good, dude?”

Shane looked up. “Oh, uh. Yeah. I’m a little tired, but I’m not bad at all. Do you want to ask Devon if we can start shooting?”

Ryan thought about it. It seemed like everyone got some rest on the plane and, even though he knew they were going to be hit with jet lag soon enough, he still felt pretty great. He was excited to start. He nodded. “Yeah, let’s go ask.”

Together, they walked down the hallway to Devon’s room, knocking quietly. She opened the door after a minute and signaled for them to go inside.

“Hey, guys. We were just talkin’ about you two.”

Matty and Mark were lounging around the sitting area and Ryan watched Devon sit back down on her bed before looking for an empty seat.

Ryan narrowed his eyes on the last remaining armchair, situated in front of the window. He risked a glance at Shane and saw he was looking at it, too, and he didn’t hesitate to run in front of him to sit down. Shane clucked his tongue, muttering, "Rude," underneath his breath. Ryan stuck his tongue out at him.

“Children,” Devon chided, shuffling through her notes. Ryan focused back on her. “Okay, so I just called the Paris BF office, and if you want to begin filming now, we can. They contacted the opera house, and it was given the A-okay, so.”

“Do we need a translator?” Shane asked. Devon shook her head.

“No, it isn’t necessary. You two will be interviewing four people.” She glanced down at her notes. “One has lived in the opera house her entire life; she trained there as a child to become a ballerina and now trains children to become ballerinas. Another is the leading soprano, who is actually considered a celebrity across Europe. She was voice-trained at the ballet house when she was young and usually comes back to the opera house after touring.”

“Sounds fun. Do we know if they’re boogaras or shaniacs?” Shane asked.

Ryan cut in. “They’re all going to be shaniacs. Most likely, everything they say is staged to be skeptical, because the opera house doesn’t want people thinking it’s haunted. Sucks, but I guess that’s what bad publicity does to you.”

Shane hummed neutrally. “Will we be able to interview them as soon as we get on board?”

“No,” Devon answered. “They’re currently rehearsing until 8 a.m., then voice resting. The first opera starts at 2 p.m. though, so we have time to actually record the story and get some pretty shots.” She nodded towards Mark and he nodded.

“We should get Lynn. She’ll want in on this action,” he said.

“I can knock on her door and see if she wants in, but otherwise, she isn’t really needed. We aren’t doing the investigation yet, and we’re going back later tonight,” Matty said.

“I think ask. Shouldn’t make the decision for her,” Shane added mildly and Matty nodded, making a quick exit.

There was a beat of silence and Ryan said, “It feels weird, not having TJ here with us.”

Everyone nodded, but it stayed quiet, while they waited for Matty to come back.

There was a quick knock and a buzz, and Matty came in with Lynn in tow. She had a bag with her.

“We going?”

Everyone stood and Devon started putting together her papers.

It was Shane that answered. “Yep.”

\--

“Holy _shit_ , guys.”

That really couldn’t describe the building. They weren’t even inside yet, and it was absolutely gorgeous. Intricate designs were sculpted into the side of the building and there were high-arching windows with ornate stained glass depicting old opera posters filling them.

Directly in front of them was the entryway. There was a stone ramp they could go up, or two wide, rounded staircases that met down the middle to the front entrance.

“Shall we?” Shane asked.

“No,” Mark and Lynn said simultaneously. They looked at each other, shrugged, and then at the others.

“I’ll go in and let them know we’re here, then,” Devon said, giving them both a look. She was already climbing the right staircase. “We don't want to just start, as if we don't have the proper permit,” she added. She opened the door and they could hear her say, “Wow,” as the door shut behind her.

They ignored her, already fiddling around in their bags, getting out their cameras and setting up for beatific shots.

Lynn told them to move with a stern demeanor, and Ryan and company bodily moved, getting out of her shot.

“That’s, uh. Wow, that’s intense,” Ryan said, watching her determined frown aptly as she moved stealthily with her GoPro. Mark wasn’t far behind her in progress, either, but rather than taking shots of going up the stairs, he was recording the skyline farther down the street, that swiftly went up the building, taking in its’ majesty and the stained glass especially.

“Yeah. I love being behind the camera, but clearly, they thrive behind the camera,” Matty said.

“Indeed,” Shane replied. “It’s a beautiful building. I can’t wait to see the inside.”

The door opened and Ryan watched Devon come out with a woman in tow.

“Mark and Lynn, get over here, now. Work with this lighting while the lighting’s still good,” Devon commanded. She motioned for them to come forward. “Ryan and Shane, meet Lynette. Lynette, Ryan and Shane.”

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said. Her voice was surprisingly deep and crisp, for her tiny frame (though the heavy French accent was not surprising at all). She was older, with few wrinkles and her white-blond hair twisted on the top of her head. Her dress covered her completely in black, as if she was doused in oil. She didn’t offer her hand.

Shane nodded beside him and Ryan said, “Good morning.”

Devon eyed them for a second, before turning to Lynette and saying, “Seeing as you won’t be available for an interview at any other time, would you mind if we did a short one now?”

Ryan’s eyebrows went up and he looked at Shane, who was just as surprised as he was. Lynette’s voice was sharper when she said, “Of course.”

Mark was unshakable and asked Lynette, “Could you stand up on the fourth step? We want to have some good framework to make it a better, more complete shot.”

“Of course,” she reiterated, and situated herself on the banister.

“Ryan, go on the second step, please, and then Shane, just stand behind him on ground level.”

Shane snickered to himself while Ryan glared and did as he said. Matty handed them their microphones and they worked quickly to put themselves together and to make sure their shit was out of shot.

“Lynette, you’re going to have to wear a microphone, because the cameras won’t pick up your audio well. Especially because we’re outside,” Devon said. Ryan looked up and saw Lynette standing there, dourly staring at the outreached microphone.

She muttered to herself in French, before grabbing it and putting it on herself. Devon didn’t say anything else, but she eyed Ryan. This was going to be a doozy.

“We’re ready when you guys are,” Lynn said. Ryan hadn’t even noticed they set up the shot.

“Mic check,” Matty reminded them. He looked a bit ridiculous with the equipment hooked up to his front and the huge headphones over his ears.

“Mic check,” Ryan said. He got a thumbs up.

“Mic check,” Shane said. Thumbs up.

Ryan crossed his fingers.

“Mic check,” Lynette said. Thumbs up.

Thank God.

“Alright, so we’ll do our usual ‘nice to meet you’ spiel, introductions, how long you’ve been at the opera house, et cetera. Ryan, you know the drill. Shane, if you have any questions, take it away as you would.”

“And try to hurry,” Mark added. “The lighting is perfect right now, but it might change.”

Ryan and Shane nodded. “Alright,” Devon said.

“5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .”

“1,” Ryan said. He nodded towards Lynette.

“Hello, my name is Lynette Laurent. I have 51 years, and I have worked at l'Opéra de Paris for most of my life.” She had a gracious smile on her face and Ryan would have thought it sincere if he hadn’t saw her switch it on so fast.

“Can you define most of your life?” Ryan asked.

“I came to the opera house when I was small, about 7, to train to become a ballerina. Since then, I was a large stage performer, one of the leads, until I could perform no longer. Now, I train young children to be their best for their age.”

“Did you live at the opera house during this time, or do you have a nearby home?”

“I have inherited property on the shore, but I live here.” Her smile changed and Ryan watched as she glanced back at the building. He couldn't place what was different about it but then realized: her smile was genuine now. “This is my home.”

“Seeing as you view it as your home,” Shane began. Ryan stifled a sigh. “ . . . what do you think of the accusation that it’s haunted?”

“I do not agree,” she said, suddenly stoic. “I have been here my entire life. I would have seen a specter living in these hallways.” Lynette paused. “It is interesting, how Americans love to believe their century old houses are haunted by previous owners, when these streets have survived great blood shed, and yet not a soul remains.”

Ryan could see Shane smiling, but he ignored him. “Would you say anything specifically to the author of _The Phantom of the Opera_ book? Seeing as he persisted in saying that there was a ghost of this specific opera house for entire life, even on his deathbed?”

“I would say, ‘I am glad that seeing your own shadow in this opera house has inspired such greatness in the world,’” she replied. A default iPhone ringtone went off and Ryan flinched as Lynette pulled it out of her deep pockets. Where the hell did the pockets come from?

She answered it and started speaking rapid French. She was already starting to pull off her microphone. Alright, sure. Whatever.

“Come,” she addressed them, turning and running up the steps. Ryan looked at Devon, who shrugged and motioned to follow. Mark and Lynn kept the cameras rolling and they followed.

“This is . . . odd,” Shane murmured behind him and Ryan shuddered. He was closer than he originally expected. Nonetheless, he nodded in agreement and walked through the solid oak doors.

“Oh, wow,” Ryan exclaimed, pausing once he entered.

(There was gold, literally everywhere, and the ceilings were so high. A huge, crystal chandelier glistened against a quaintly painted ceiling, a pale blue with white accents that looked like clouds.) Shane wasn’t faring much better; if anything, he was worse, with his jaw slackened and his eyes alight. His heart beat a little faster and he watched utter delight spread across the big guy’s face. Shane looked down at him and Ryan’s breath caught in his throat, even when Shane’s brows furrowed--

“Come!” suddenly burst out and Ryan shook off his awe. (His awe?) Ryan hurried to catch up to Lynette, who already walked past the admissions booth and was climbing up marble stairs. He could feel people watching him, but he ignored it, in favor of listening to Lynette. “I was told you need to record the history of the opera house?” she asked as they stepped over the threshold at the top of the stairs. The marble turned into red carpet and he glanced back, his eyes wandering over the high ceilings, the gold banisters, the shining chandelier--

“Yeah, we do,” he replied dazedly. Ryan turned back to look at her and Lynette had almost a young grin on her face.

“Then come forward,” she said, extending her arms welcomingly. Ryan took a hesitant step forward, then another when she said nothing. Then another. Before he knew it, he was standing under a large archway that led into the theatre's seating. He looked at Lynette questioningly. “You will be recording at the stage,” she said. “It has been some time since someone has been compelled by the opera house’s beauty. You will be allotted a little less than three hours. Will that be enough?”

The stage was huge and so fucking ornamental. Ryan gaped at her before assuring, “Yes! Yes, that’ll definitely be enough, uh, time. Thank you,” he added graciously.

“It is my pleasure, though before I leave, I feel this is worth repeating.” She held up the microphone which Ryan hadn’t noticed she still had. “Americans are quick to sell tales of ghosts and apparitions haunting century old buildings. Parisians are not. Our wondrous city has seen great tragedy, as many large European cities have. Yet, we do not spin quite as many webs as Americans do.” She paused, and looked over Ryan’s shoulder, presumably at the camera. “I am grateful that this opera house -- my home -- inspired such a talented author and then playwright. However, do not let his ramblings of a phantom fool you, for it was his shadow that caused such grave chaos. Not someone from the dead. I am glad to have met you, gentlemens.” She handed Shane the mic and shook Ryan’s hand. “I have business to attend to. Perhaps your camera will frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little bit of recording.” Lynette laughed softly. “Adieu.”

And like that, she was gone.

“Wow, alright. That was an experience,” Shane said. “Strong words were said. I must say, that is pretty damaging for the boogaras, Ryan.”

Before Ryan could tell Shane to shut up for the camera, Mark was already exclaiming, “That was some great footage, though.”

Lynn nodded, her headpiece bobbling a bit. “Dead ass. It was pretty beautiful. And the fast paced journey was actually really nice on camera. It might be the best way to introduce the place if you’re going to describe it for viewers.”

“Yeah, definitely. So do we actually have the go ahead to . . .?” Ryan asked Devon. She grinned.

“Yeah! When I asked them the different places we could film, they said if we make a good impression with Madam Laurent, then we will have the stage. Otherwise, they had a room prepared in the back for interviews and the story. You can’t do the interviews now, because the opera singers are resting their voices for tonight’s performance, but we can set up for the story.”

Ryan smiled.”Sounds great!”

\--

The stage was, to say the least, gorgeous. It was a pretty normal stage when it came to, y’know, the layout. And whatnot. But, the surrounding area was absolutely stunning. Golden women held up the boxes next to the stage, where royalty used to sit, and golden vines entwined their way across the entire ceiling, framing the stage curtains and bleeding into the trim, trailing down the columns. Meanwhile, there was _another_ chandelier, this time gold rather than crystal, that hung in the middle of the room, right above the red seats. The ceilings were so high, and Ryan had read, hand-painted. Sitting on the stage now, Ryan thought it was intimidating. He said as much.

“Well, yeah. It is intimidating,” Shane replied. Ryan looked at him incredulously, as if asking _that’s all you have to say?_ Of course Shane understood. “What else should I say? It is! I do like that we still have the opera set behind us. That’s pretty cool.”

Ryan let the slight slide, but he nodded nonetheless with his other sentiment. “Devon, Matty, you guys good?”

“Yep, we’re ready! Mark, is everything set up?”

“We have two cameras set up, plus our handhelds. We’re good,” Lynn said.

“Uh huh,” Mark said, staring into one of the screens.

“Alright, then in 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .”

“1. _This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved, we investigate l'Opéra de Paris, as part of our ongoing investigation into the question, are ghosts real?_ ” Ryan watched Shane shake his head while staring at the camera and he stifled a smile. “As you can tell already, we are in a pretty elegant location. Do you know anything about this location, Shane?”

Shane blinked, before catching on and saying, “Not much. I do know, however, that it was the inspiration for the novel _The Phantom of the Opera_ and then, the rock opera!” he added with enthusiasm.

“Well, let’s get into it and see who this phantom may potentially be. Wait," Ryan said. "Retake, I hated that. Well, let's get into it and see why many speculate about a phantom below." Shane _ooh-ed_ Ryan pulled out his phone and opened the script. He glanced at Devon and she gave a thumbs up. “ _L'Opéra de Paris is an 18th century opera house, built by Lucien Beaulieu, after inheriting his father’s fortune. He created it, after expressing his belief in connecting the general public to the luxury and opulence of the aristocracy._

“ _After receiving confirmation from King Louis XVI to continue his endeavors, Beaulieu would allow comedians, musicians, and poets to perform for the general public, as well as showing performances of small-cast operas._ ”

Shane cut in. “So, this is _the_ King Louis, right? I’m not mixing up my King Louis’?”

“Nope, this is the one you’re thinking about.”

“Wonderful,” Shane said, and Ryan wheezed. He took a second to compose himself before reading again.

“ _Unfortunately, soon after the opera house’s official opening, brawls broke out, as tensions began rising between the different social classes.  There were no reported deaths up until this point, but Beaulieu thought it prudent he cut ties with the royal family. This would have been a good move on Beaulieu’s part, but he was about two years too late. He was allegedly the first person to die on the steps of l’Opéra de Paris in 1792 by the guillotine._ ”

“Oh-ho! Holy shit, really?” Shane asked, intrigued and laughing. Ryan looked up and saw that he was staring at him in child-like wonder.

“Yeah, which is pretty ironic, considering he might have been one of the only people in the bourgeoisie who sympathized with their cause.”

“That’s true, but it’s also hilarious, Ryan. He died. By the guillotine.”

Ryan exaggerated his judgement. “Interesting that that’s why you’re all happy to be celebrating this man’s death.”

“No, no, not happy. Just . . . ah. The guillotine.” Shane looked away dreamily.

“Alright then . . .” Ryan cleared his throat. “Moving on.

“ _For a short period of time, the opera house became a renowned watcher of bougie persecution, as the guillotine stood proudly in front of the building. Ultimately, it was moved; however, after the Revolution was over, people reported there having been hundreds of executions on the steps of the opera house._ ”

“See, now that’s -- that’s sad!” Shane exclaimed. “The first one was situational irony at best; however, this is just sad. If ghosts exist, it would make sense for this place to be crawlin’ with them!”

“That’s the thing, though,” Ryan intercepted. Thank God Shane caught on. “It doesn’t actually say that any of these people died _inside of_ the opera house.”

“So, what you’re saying is--”

“--is that so far, no one has actually died within these walls. But when it comes to ghosts, it doesn’t necessarily have to be where they die that they haunt; more like wherever they had a strong emotional connection.”

Shane hummed like an asshole.

“Okay.

_“For a short time, Napoleon seized control of the opera house, but no one performed there._

_“For about 20 years, the opera house remained abandoned. Parisians have alleged that they’ve heard screaming, windows breaking, and distant singing from inside the house. However, most of these reports were written off, as many no longer had a blind faith that ghosts exist. It’s also very possible that the opera house was overridden by homelessness during this time frame._ ”

“Makes sense,” Shane said.

“It does. We’re also in a period of learning in Europe. The whatcha-ma-call-it, the, uh. Enlighten--?”

“The Enlightenment! That’s true! No one was completely convinced by the church’s scammin’ anymore and more and more science was being discovered by the hour.”

“Yeah, so this made it easier for people to be skeptical about what they may be hearing,” Ryan added.

“Interesting, interesting . . .” Shane pondered.

“Let’s get back into it.

“ _The opera house was later bought by Victor Bellamy in 1831, who turned it into a ballet school. L’Opéra de Paris ran its first official opera in 1835 and is still operating, though there have been turnovers of owners and financiers._

“Uh, this next part, we’re actually going to be exploring around the building and has still needs to be written, but I know how I want to frame it, so I'll just record my VO for this section now. Sound good?” Ryan asked. Matty nodded. “Cool. So, when I get the chance, I’m going to really study the layout and describe it, but otherwise, I know what I’m doing. Back to the script, then...

“ _This was standard in opera houses; the secret passage ways were not._

" _Many secret passageways were built within the walls of the opera house. Thin walls were built in such a way that was easy to look out into the hallway, but anyone alongside that paneling would be clueless. Scones, also, had loose screws so that the person inside the passage way could look at anyone on the outside from within. The chapel in the basement has a stained-glass window, which can only be opened from the outside._

“ _The longest passageway, though, is in one of the private dressing rooms. A large one-sided mirror covers it and then another hidden doorway that can, once again, only be opened from the inside. This passageway is a long, dark hallway that turns into a spiral staircase. The climb down is said to last at least 8 minutes. Then, you’ll reach a wide cavern that has water flowing through it. An old bed with a mattress is down there, along with a small piano and candelabras. It’s hard to say when this was put together, seeing as there’s no other indicators someone lived down there, or any forms of identification are found, but it was obviously used by someone. This further proves the theory that homeless Parisians lived down there after, or even during, the French Revolution._ ”

There was a pause, and Shane asked, “Can I--” he signaled towards his mouth and Ryan nodded. “Well, to me, at least, it seems pretty obvious that it was only homeless Parisians.”

“Well, not necessarily. And I only say this because of one account.

“ _Gaston Leroux claimed in 1904 to have seen a man haunting the opera house. He said that he saw the man beckon him from behind the guard’s back and led him down into the cavern under the opera house_ \--”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Shane interrupted. He had this _look_ on his face and Ryan bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. “Leroux, the author?" Ryan nodded. "Okay. Now, he was led down to the cavern? You just described how hard it was to get down there. How would he have been able to get past the guards and sneak into a dressing room?”

“That’s the thing. He shouldn’t have been able to. At this point, the cavern would have only been known by opera house officials and firefighters, so it is a very weird occurrence.” Ryan hesitated before thinking, _fuck it_. “And it can still technically be justified if he were on a hallucinogenic.” As Shane tutted approvingly, Ryan shot him a glare and said, “I’m going to continue.

“ _It should have been impossible for Leroux to know about the whereabouts of the cavern. However, when he later described it to opera house officials, they were astounded to hear that he accurately described the building._ ”

“Well,” Shane said after Ryan paused. “It’s a cavern. How much could he fuck up a description of a cavern?”

“You’ll see later,” Ryan assured. “Anyway.

“ _When he went down into the cavern, he was told to sing by the man. When he refused, the man said something that allegedly broke Leroux’s heart. Leroux later said this of the man: ‘A man seized in grief and betrayal, who loves unChristlike, who sang his purest notes in love, found his demise in his solace and was beckoned to death by those who are unknown. He winked at me and whispered, “Think of me fondly after this final goodbye,” and the phantom forever sings songs of his lost darling, whom of which he addresses as ‘Monsieur.’_ ”

It was silent for a solid minute. “Now I’m not sure if we have time unpack all of that,” Shane said. He leaned back into the red armchair and exhaled. Ryan raised his brows. “But let’s try. So a ghost told him to sing, yeah?” Ryan nodded and concurred. “And the ghost replied, saying something that broke this guy’s heart.” Ryan nodded and concurred. “He never said what broke his heart?”

“I mean, we get context clues from the quote--”

“And the quote! So, this ghost was a _raging_ homosexual, and it’s put in clear terms. Yet, all I hear whenever I listen to _The Phantom_ is hetero-normative bullshit!”

Ryan wheezed out a laugh. “Yeah--”

“I just don't understand, Ryan!” he declared dramatically.

“Well, I don't either! Generally, however, it is a very sad story and the basic premise of the story was included. Maybe it was a hopeless kind of love, where it was one sided?” Ryan suggested.

“I just-- I don't know. Just continue.” He looked distraught, but in that fake rat kind of way, so Ryan started talking.

“ _Leroux’s words, however, created a large controversy. Many didn’t want to believe a ghost was in the opera house, while others were angry at the allegation of it being a gay ghost._ ”

“A gay ghost?” Pure bewilderment mixed with laughter escaped Shane’s mouth and Ryan wheezed again.

“Shut up, Shane. Moving forward!

“ _Regardless, Leroux insisted on his deathbed what he saw was the truth and said that his experience restored his faith in God_.”

“That’s nice, if maybe misplaced,” Shane inserted. Ryan rolled his eyes and ignored him.

“ _The opera house, itself, has stated on multiple occasions how much  the owners resent the accusation that the opera house may be haunted and it is widely disbelieved that it actually is. We’re here, to either put the case to rest, or to add more oddities to the soul bowl._ ”

“You would think,” Shane started and Ryan braced himself. “That the opera house would take advantage of a haunting--” Ryan was already shaking his head before he finished the thought.

“No, that’s something they’ve always been very keen on. That they don't want to be known for a haunting, they want to be known for “haunting” operas and ballets.”

“Interesting way to frame it.”

“Maybe, but we understand their intention.

“ _L'Opéra de Paris has a complex and interesting history, showcasing the death and despair of war, but also the beauty of  the arts and music. As far as records show, no one has died in the opera house, though it has seen great tragedy and aggression. Maybe nothing supernatural has haunted this opera house, and it truly was Parisians who needed a place to stay. Or perhaps, Gaston Leroux was right that something unnatural lurks beneath this crested marble. But for all intensive purposes, the mysterious circumstances of l'Opéra de Paris will remain, unsolved._ ”

“I think that, maybe it is better that the story is fictitious, if only for the sake of the man who would be ghostin’ it up here,” Shane said.

“Yeah, that’s-- I can agree with that. Like, we don't know how he died, but it’s still-- y’know, it’s a depressing thought that maybe he, and all the other ghosts around the world, can’t move on.”

“I agree that it is depressing, but I’m glad we don't have to worry about it, because ghosts aren’t real.”

Shane wore this smirk that made Ryan want to ki-- kind of punch him. “Agree to disagree,” he opted to say instead, shaking his head.

“I think that’s a wrap,” Matty proclaimed, and Ryan and Shane simultaneously breathed out.

“Was that good?” Ryan asked Lynn and she nodded.

“Perfect on my end. Mark?”

He nodded, staring down at one of the screens. “Looks good.”

Ryan looked around, but didn’t find who he was looking for. “Where’s Devon?”

“I think she went to go meet up with some people at Admissions,” Shane chimed in. Ryan raised his brows at him. He shrugged in return. “She signaled while you were talking.”

“Mk. What time is it?” he asked as he unlocked his phone. “Nevermind, it’s-- it’s about 9:30, so we have some extra time, before we have to leave.”

“And we’re recording tonight, right?” Shane asked.

“That’s the plan. We won’t be spending the night, but we do have some great destinations we can go to within the opera house. And if we get everything done today and tonight, then maybe we can have a free day tomorrow to do what we want.”

“Sounds good.”

Ryan saw something from the corner of his eye and watched Devon walk up with two women in tow. One was tall and pale, with brown hair pulled into a ponytail, while the other girl was short and dark, with cascading curls held back with a hairband. “Hey guys,” Devon called out. “C’mere real quick?” Ryan and Shane got off of their chairs and walked up to the end of the stage with everyone else. “I’d like to introduce you to Bella Williams,” the taller women inclined her head, “and Celeste Thomas.” The girl waved.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all. I am glad to welcome you to l'Opéra de Paris,” Bella said. Ryan blinked. She had an English accent.

“Thank you for having us.” They nodded towards her respectfully.

“So, Bella will be showing us around later and will be acting as our security detail in case if anything happens, or goes amuck. She will also act as our translator if necessary.”

“Most of the people who work and live here know basic English, as it’s tutored, but it is always better to be safe than sorry,” she added. Bella looked down at Celeste and then back at the crew members. “You will be interviewing a few girls?”

“Yes. I was told we were going to be interviewing a prima ballerina, the first soprano, and a chorus girl,” Ryan listed.

“I am the prima ballerina,” Celeste said. Her voice was soft and lilted how Ryan imagined a typical French accent sounded. She glanced at each crew member before her eyes landed on Ryan. She inhaled and seemed nervous. Ryan titled his head at her and Celeste looked away. 

“Great! You don't sing, right?” Devon asked. She shook her head. “Then we can knock your interview out now without having to worry. Unless if you have any problems with that, Ms. Williams?”

“None at all. If I am needed, call upon me. I will be in the front,” she said. Bella bowed, before making a hasty exit.

There was a brief pause before Shane asked, “Shall we?” and everyone moved into their positions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I'm not dead and I'm here with a decently long chapter. I think I'm going to have to cut down on when I plan to update because of schoolwork. As much as I love my idea for this story, it will sadly have to be put on the back burner. I will, however, try to post as frequently as I can and hope you all understand.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please leave me feedback and comments, it's greatly appreciated. Much love, y'all!


	4. The Opera House (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The recollections of a haunting.

“5 . . . 4 . . .  3 . . . 2 . . .”

“1.” Ryan nodded towards Celeste, who smiled. There was something off, though; her eyes kept darting to the side, as if she were wary of being around them. And it didn’t seem to be about the camera, either; it seemed to be the crew bothering her.

“My name is Celeste, I have 21 years, and I am the prima ballerina of this opera house.” Her eyes darted from side to side, before landing directly on the camera Lynn was holding. She licked her lips and when she turned her eyes back onto Ryan, he realized they were wide and . . . fearful?

“Woah, hey. If you don't want to do the interview, that’s fine. We don't have to do it now, or anytime, if you would prefer,” he offered. She was definitely at war with herself, which . . . she shouldn't be.

Shane signaled towards the cameras and Ryan heard them click off. Celeste sighed.

“Celeste? You don't have to interview with us--”

“I will say their script,” she said suddenly. “I will repeat the opera house’s script perfectly and precisely, but please, you cannot include what I’m about to tell you in your show.” Her eyes beseeched them, all of them, and Ryan turned to Devon. He raised his brows questioningly and, after a moment, breathed out when she nodded slowly.

“Alright. That will work. What is it you want to tell us?” Ryan asked.

“Can you turn off the cameras?” she asked, fiddling now with her mic.

“They already turned them all off." He looked at her demeanor; she was hunching in on herself, like she didn't want to be seen. Celeste looked relieved, though, when he said this, and she let out a sigh, speaking lowly to herself in French. “Celeste, you don't have to--”

“There really is a ghost of the opera house! I know it, I've seen him.”

Ryan blinked. Deep in his gut, he felt a familiar twinge of fear stir, but it was dull, and quiet.

“How do you know, Celeste?” Shane questioned. He was sitting upright next to Ryan and had his linked fingers resting on top of a crossed leg.

“He . . . he preys. Not on me, or disbelievers.” Shane shifted beside him, but Ryan ignored him. “He always . . . the ghost never preys on those who disbelieve. I believe,” she said. “I was raised Catholic and am firm in my faith. My family too. They are all religious.”

Ryan and Shane looked at each other, before turning back towards Celeste. Shane asked, “When did you see the ghost? Were you asleep?”

Vehemently, she shook her head. Her eyes were blazing when she stared him down, but Celeste didn’t seem angry at him. “No. It was midday. It was . . . I had 17 years. I have a brother, who is smaller than me. He had 13 years, at that time.” She scratched her cheek and her eyes flitted to the side. “My brother, he had a good voice. He was just starting to change and his voice was perfect for opera.

“I was to be groomed for opera, too, but I came smaller, when I only had 6 years. I hurt my . . . I don't know the English word,” Celeste mumbled, almost to herself, but signalled towards her throat. “I could not become a true opera singer, but I learn the choral music, as an understudy.

“But speaking again of my brother, my maman brought him to the opera house, to sing. To see if they would accept him as well into their schooling. As soon as he walked in, I felt the presence of another man. We were among many, but I saw him. The opera ghost. As did my brother. He didn’t . . .

“It was almost like he was . . . hip? Hyphen--?”

“Hypnotized?” Ryan offered. He felt uneasy, but every time a thought of doubt or fear crossed his mind, it was softened, almost . . . soothed. Celeste shot him an indescribable look, before nodding.

“Yes! The ghost was a man. He had . . .” Celeste took a shuddering breath. “There is no way for that man to have been alive. He was wearing these shredded clothings . . .” Her voice cracked. “With so many holes. And red.” She looked up and stared almost desperately at them. “Red blood oozed, drenching him. And he was cut. His face was cut badly.

“He lured my brother away from everyone, but I followed behind. And when they were walking away, no one seemed to even notice that he was there, or that a young boy was following him. Only I did. When he led him to a private dressing room, I intervened. I was scared for his safety,” she added imploringly.

“We understand,” Ryan said comfortingly.

“Do you know which room it was?” Shane asked.

She thought about it, before shaking her head. “No, I can’t-- It’s been too long-- And I never tried to go back after that incident, I was too scared--”

“It’s alright, I was just curious,” Shane said quickly.

Celeste sighed again. “It just. . . it just seemed like he, the man, disappeared from the air. And my brother remembers small amounts. We spoke after. And he said he had a nightmare of a bleeding man. But he doesn’t remember the room. I’m glad,” she added.

There was a short, awkward silence.

“Why are you telling us this?” Ryan asked.

“To warn you,” she replied immediately. “He’s here. I _know_ it; he’s here. I would be guilty if I didn’t do all I could to try to keep you from harm’s way.”

“Has he tried to communicate with you after that happened with your brother?”

She hesitated, before nodding. “Yes, but . . . he didn’t prey on me. He . . . he used to give me advice.”

“What kind of advice?” Shane inquired.

“How to hold my air longer. How to fix my posture better. Singing mistakes, mostly, though.” Celeste turned back to Ryan. “Can we speak?”

“Alone?”

She nodded.

“I mean, sure, I guess. Why don't we just move down the stage a bit, and you guys can get ready for the aired interview,” Ryan proposed. They were already set up, he knew, but he hoped they would play along.

“Sounds good,” Matty replied, and Ryan and Celeste got up from their seats, walking across the stage. He looked out on the glimmering lights, the gold sconces and trim, and the red patron seats. It really was gorgeous.

“Seems like a beautiful place to grow up,” Ryan commented.

“It was,” Celeste said. She pushed back an imaginary hair and smiled briefly to herself. “I have made lifelong friends in this opera house and I intend to teach here when I am old. I love it here.” She frowned, then, and stopped walking. She looked up at Ryan. “This is the first time I am talking about the opera ghost. He is watching, I know. _You_ should know.”

Ryan’s fear was usually constricting; made it hard to breathe, think. Wrapped around his lungs and squeezed.

But right now, he felt calm and . . . peaceful.

“Did you tell anyone about the ghost?”

“No one here. I couldn’t; not even my friends. You have the freedom to believe in God here, but that is different from ghosts and spirits. You risk being banned from the opera house if you even try to rumor there is a ghost here.” She quirked an eyebrow. “At least, if you work and train here.

“I am worried for you,” she said abruptly. “He has already touched your mind.”

“Has he?” Ryan asked.

“You should be afraid, and yet you do not quiver. You stand here, enjoying the majesty of this opera house when you should be shaking." Ryan realized she was right. Usually it was dehabilitating, and yet, he almost felt happy. It didn't make sense. "You believe?” she asked.

“I do,” Ryan replied.

“Then be careful. Have you been betrayed recently? By a lover, a friend?”

“No, why?”

“Because that is what he preys upon. Betrayal. You are not likely to be possessed, but he is interested. Like I said, he’s already touched your mind.”

“I’m glad I’m not afraid,” Ryan input. He felt he needed to say this to her.

“Good,” she said, smiling. “But do not let this confidence shatter your self-perseverance.”

“I won’t. Let’s do the fake interview, now. Cool?”

Celeste raised a perfectly plucked brow. “‘Cool’.”

\--

“This episode is going to look sick,” Lynn exclaimed. “The editors are going to be absolutely shitting themselves with saturated video clips. And honestly, I can’t even blame them. This place is lit.”

Ryan nodded in concurrence. "Literally and figuratively," Mark joked and Lynn groaned. Celeste was collected by a ballerina a few minutes ago, and the crew decided to look over the footage they already have.

“We’re definitely going to have to look out for the other ladies scripts, though,” Shane said.

Ryan glanced over at him, before looking down at the video of them rushing into the opera house. “Do you think it’s bullshit? With her warning?”

“I mean, look. She hardly seems like an actress, but she did put on quite the performance today. She looked like she was going to cry, I can definitely tell you that.” Shane fiddled with the camera, and didn’t say anything else.

“I definitely believe she saw something,” Devon interjected. “Her account just seemed genuine, y’know?”

"Plus, she doesn't really have anything to gain by telling us about a ghost. If anything, she has everything to lose, because of the banning policy," Mark added.

Lynn nodded, and Matty agreed quietly, though he added, “I don't necessarily think she saw a ghost, though. Very easily, someone could have just been a costume and that’s why no one batted an eye when he walked past, you know what I mean? She might’ve been traumatized by the experience of her brother almost being kidnapped and her mind just filled in the blanks so she could cope.”

"Ooh, that's a good theory," Lynn interjected. "Shame you guys can't put her testimony into the episode."

“Did she say anything to you?” Devon asked Ryan. “About the ghost? Or her warning?”

“Yeah, she said that he--” he stopped talking.

His train of thought ran off the rails.

For a second, Ryan’s mind was silent. His thoughts, his ideas, his hopes were thrown and scattered across the warm plains of a crisp summer day. Flashes of his family fluttered beneath his eyelids like papers in the wind, his ambitions of discovering the truth, his infatuation with Shane. They laid before _him_ , and seedlings his dreams burrowed beneath the fields, taking root, growing, lengthening, rising. Rising to meet the sun, waiting to be watered and sustained--

And he was present again.

Ryan blinked heavily.

“He what?”

“That’s a pretty shot,” Ryan said instead. He stared at the screen before looking back up at Devon.

_Don't say anything about betrayal._

“Uhh, that he wasn’t supposed to be mentioned. In the opera house. Or else you could be banned for life from ever returning. She, uh, basically wanted to make sure that we don't put her real account into the episode because of this,” he fibbed.

Lynn nodded. “Makes sense, I guess. I wouldn’t assume you’re the one in charge, but like. That’s chill.”

Ryan laughed, uneasy. “Yeah. Alright, guys, let’s get going. We’ll come back later to shoot our other stuff.” Shane looked at him with a frown and Ryan shot him a weary grin. The frown deepened.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind a nap,” Matty said, and crew members agreed.

“Let’s pack it up. Good job, y’all,” Shane finalized. He bumped shoulders with Ryan. "You alright?" he asked.

"Jet lag set in, I think. Let's get out of here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm seeing an end in sight and a sequel being born.
> 
> As always, please leave me feedback and comments! I'd love to hear your thoughts. Much love <3


	5. The Cavern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falsified testimonies and filming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetad.

“You’ll be able to film in five primary locations,” Bella said to the crew. They were inside her office, sat down and talking about the plans for their recording. Streetlights shone from her small window and, in the distance, Ryan could see the Eiffel Tower all lit up for nighttime. A soprano was belting a note from the auditorium. “You will be interviewing again, yes?”

Devon nodded. “Yes, we will be interviewing . . .” she shuffled through a couple papers. “Marleny García, the lead soprano, and Christina Martin, a chorus member.”

“Marleny is the Primadonna, so that should be her true title,” Bella corrected. Devon jotted it down, but Ryan doubted she would’ve forgotten anyway. “The stage is currently in use, as you may be able to tell --” she paused as they listened to the chorus singing, “-- so, once both are finished their performance, you may interview them in a dressing room.

“You have already filmed on stage. Now, you may film in the hidden corridor, the cavern, the dressing room, and backstage.”

“Why are we filming backstage?” Shane asked.

“Because that’s where Leroux reported originally seeing the ghost. The ghost led him to a hallway, which then took him into the dressing room, which _then_ led him to the cavern,” Ryan explained. Bella nodded in front of him. “I’m going to record the audio for this section of the story in the soundbooth. I thought it might come out cleaner then, especially once we get all of the shots we need as filler.”

“Sounds good,” Devon input. “When is the show ending?”

“The performance will end in about . . .” Bella looked at her watch. “20 minutes. If you would like to record different viewpoints of the foyer, now would be the best time, as most patrons should be in their seat, watching the rest of the opera.”

“That’s not a lot of time . . .” Mark said with a frown. “We could redo the entryway shots, but with different angles and with Ryan and Shane walking up the middle.”

“Ooh, yeah, that would work. Especially if we have one situated closer to the floor and then we can lift it up and get a wide shot,” Lynn added, smiling dreamily.

Mark nodded, but he was amused. Ryan eyed the two of them, before turning his attention back to Bella, who was granting them permission.

“Alright guys, let’s start before the bougie leave.”

\--

“Well, Celeste was right,” Shane remarked. "They have a script for dealing with ghosts."

“I think we already figured that out for ourselves, thanks,” Ryan replied.

“Yeah, yeah, no need to get tickled,” Shane quipped, and Ryan mockingly repeated his words back at him.

“Boys!”

They both turned to Devon sheepishly.

“Thank you. Do you think we should mention it in the episode?”

Ryan opened his mouth to say ‘no’, but then paused. Why wouldn’t they point out a regularity between what they said?

“I don't think it’s our fashion to _not_ mention the continuity,” Shane said, mirroring what Ryan was thinking. Mark hummed in agreement.

“Let’s listen to Marleny’s again,” Lynn suggested. Matty unplugged the headphones and pressed ‘play’.

“ _Alright, testing? We good? Great.”_

_“5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .”_

_“1.”_

_“Hello, my name is Marleny García, I am 27 years old, and this is my second season as primadonna.”_

_“Hi, Marleny. How long have you worked in the Opera house?”_

_“I came to the Opera house when I was 12 years old and began voice lessons. Then, I was offered a scholarship to study here, and have lived in this opera house ever since.”_

“Fast forward,” Ryan requested. “We can look at introductions later.”

Matty messed with the buttons, fast-forwarding, pausing, and then playing.

_“-- never heard or saw a ghost in the opera house. It’s simply a fable that was brought to life by the author of the book.”_

_“Did you--”_

“Now go to Christina’s. Her English was worse, remember?”

“Yeah,” Matty said distractedly. He shifted gears, and Christina’s broken English filtered through the monitors.

_“Je m'appelle-- my name est Christina Martin, I have 16 years, and j’ai work in the l’opéra depuis l‘enfance.”_

“We’re going to need a translator,” Shane commented. Ryan nodded.

“Fast forward.”

Matty did.

_“--ve you ever heard about the rumors of the opera house being haunted?”_

_“Oui, I have. I never heard or saw a ghost in l’opéra. It est a child’s fable. Rien de plus.”_

“‘Fable’?”

“Way too specific,” Shane agreed. “Seems pretty fishy for this old cat.”

Ryan opened his mouth to respond, but Devon interceded before he could say anything. “Backstage was a bust, but it worked out perfectly for our interviews. Why don't we do everything in one, clean swoop and just keep the cameras rolling until we get into the cavern?”

“Sounds good. Ready?” Ryan asked.

The crew members nodded.

“Alrighty,” Shane said. “5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .”

\--

“Oh, wow,” Ryan said to himself. “Yeah, we’re not going to be able to go in there.”

A door behind a painting was opened to reveal a tiny corridor. The lights from the main hallways lit the narrow passageway and, from where Ryan was standing, seemed to give a clear view of the people walking by.

Shane whistled lowly. “Yeah, even you can’t it in there, Ryan!”

Ryan ignored him. “I wonder if it’s still in use today.”

“It is.”

Ryan jumped and turned towards the voice. It was Bella. “Oh, hey.” Her statement sunk in. “It’s still in use?”

“Yes. The young ballerinas use it, so they do not disturb our patronage. Once they are too big to fit through the passage, they should be old enough to act mature around the patrons, anyway. It also keeps them from the prying eye, and ensures our young stars stay safe.”

“That’s a good system,” Shane commented.

“Indeed. Seeing as neither of you can fit down this particular corridor, why don't I lead you to the dressing room?”

“Sounds good. But you’re going to need a mic--” Bella tapped the collar of her shirt and Ryan realized she already had one on. “Okay, that works. We still runnin’ and rollin’?” Lynn gave a thumbs up and Mark nodded. “Great. Lead the way?”

“Of course,” Bella said smoothly.

Ryan and Shane followed Bella as she began to lead them down a backstage hallway. “So, do you give the whole ghost stories any credence?” Shane asked.

“I do not,” Bella replied. Every doorway they passed was intricately carved against a dark scarlet wallpaper. Sconces shone beautifully and Ryan knew it would make for some good shots. “I believe ghost stories to be quite childish, but only when I’m being quite honest.”

“Have you ever heard of any stories from the girls here, having paranormal experiences?" Ryan asked.

“No, they would never tell me. I have a strict, ‘no horse shite’ policy.” They both laughed and Bella stopped in front of a door. “This is the dressing room. I will be accompanying you inside, and will then lead you into the cavern.”

She opened the door.

The room was gorgeous. It was filled with different types of flowers, and had artfully crafted mahogany furniture, with silky doilies and depression glass bottles adjourning everything. Pressure built behind Ryan’s forehead and he rubbed his brow ridge absently.

“This room is absolutely beautiful,” Shane cooed. “Was it remodeled after the original time frame of the opera house? This furniture looks a bit Elizabethan.”

“These pieces are actually the original that came from that time period. This is one of the only rooms that didn’t suffer from major distress from the wars fought in Paris. It is believed widely it is because it held a safe house beneath it.”

“Wouldn’t that just make it stick out more?” Ryan asked.

“No, as other rooms were kept in similar condition in this hallway.”

“We doing ghost stuff here, Ryan?” Shane questioned.

“No, I wanted to save that for the cavern.” Warmth blossomed behind his eyes and he blinked back tears. “We will be working with the spirit box later on, though,” he warned. Shane groaned dramatically.

“Spirit box?” Bella asked.

“It flips through radio channels so we’re able to communicate with ghosts and spirits,” Ryan answered.

“It won’t work, though, because the radio signals are dead underground,” Shane guessed. “So we’ll be able to prove once and for all it’s bullshit.”

“Does it use frequencies?” Bella asked.

Ryan blinked. “Yeah, why?”

“Then it will work, regardless of its validity or not.” She offered no other explanations and there was a beat of awkward silence. “Would you like me to show you where the cavern lies?”

“Uh, yeah, that’ll definitely work,” Ryan said. He watched as Bella walked in front of a golden mirror on the far side the room. Lynn rushed around Ryan to get right next to Bella. She pushed one of the ornamental flowers and then, very carefully, pulled open the mirror, revealing a dark hallway.

“Shouldn’t there be another door?” Shane asked.

“It was removed for safety reasons. This entire hallway was rebuilt, as it was filled with safety hazards. They were originally planning on filling it with cement, but as it turns out, it is of beneficial use for the fire squads of Paris to train in.”

“It is also quite historical, so it would have been a shame to block it up,” Shane input.

“Indeed. My opinion wasn’t warranted at the time, however.” She flicked on a switch, and revealed a bright fluorescent light hanging in the middle of a hallway made up of white walls and white tiles. Nearer to the back of the hallway was an elevator, and an original, dark wood archway. “Shall we?”

“Usually we try to gather more footage in individual rooms,” Ryan said apologetically. “We--”

“Can record that later, though,” Shane interceded quickly. “Let’s get the cavern first, then we can do all the filler and fun stuff, right?”

Ryan looked up at Shane, with heat flushing his cheeks and collarbones. He felt uncomfortably warm. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled, and followed Shane into the new hallway.

In this room, his head didn’t feel quite as heavy. “It’s definitely a step away from the opulence of the rest of the place,” he commented. He walked down the hallway, looking up and down the walls and stopped in front of the archway.

There were two sconces on the inside, and the iron spiral staircase glistened temptingly.

“Are the stairs safe?” Ryan asked Bella.

She hesitated for a second, before nodding. “They are safe, but it is ill-advised to actually walk them.”

And yet, despite the thickness in his head, Ryan felt the need to persist. He turned to Devon and Shane. “It would be the perfect place to do a solo investigation, going down the steps into the cavern and then up again.” A thought struck him. “I could go down, and Shane up.”

“Would that be alright?” Devon asked Bella. She nodded. “Then it’s up to you, Shane.”

Shane searched his face, looking for something. Maybe fear; Ryan didn’t know. He frowned slightly. “You said you wanted to go down first? Would I be going up _after_ the investigation?”

Ryan frowned in return. “Yeah, that was my original thought . . . You guys can go down in the elevator for now.”

Searching, searching, searching. Shane didn’t seem to find what he was looking for and Ryan couldn’t fathom what he wanted. It was a tense silence.

“If that’s what you want to do, then okay,” he finally conceded. Ryan grinned, excited and anticipatory. The pressure eased.

“Yeah! Alright, let’s get a move on.” Lynn handed him a backpack and he put on his equipment in record time, pressing the ‘on’ button to get the show rollin’. “I’ll meet you guys down there, yeah?”

“I will go down first, as I will oversee you all,” Bella said.

“I can go down with Mark,” Devon volunteered. “Matty, Shane, and Lynn, you good staying up here?” She pressed the button for the elevator and the doors opened.

Matty and Lynn nodded in succession. Bella walked onto the elevator. “Sounds good to me,” Shane added.

“See you on the other side,” Mark said, stepping inside after Bella. Devon glanced at Ryan, but said nothing, and they all watched as the elevator doors shut behind them. It hummed accordingly.

Lynn swung the camera around to face Ryan directly and Shane took his cue. “Ya ready to face the phantom, Ryan? I’m sure he’s ready to rumble and tumble, if you get what I mean.” He winked, but it was a strain. Behind Lynn, Matty pressed the button to the elevator.

“As ready as I ever am, big guy,” Ryan replied with a shaking voice. His fear was faux, though, and he was practically ready to run down the steps.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. But Shane held up a hand. “Can you give us a quick minute, guys?”

“Sure. Matty, why don't you go down? I want to be able to film Ryan walking down the steps, and Shane can just come down with me,” Lynn suggested.

“Works for me,” Shane said quickly. He grabbed Ryan’s arm and pulled him down the hallway, closer to the opulent lighting, and not the blaring fluorescent that had been added when the corridor was discovered. They were almost right next to the mirror when Shane finally stopped and asked, “Are you okay, Ry?”

Ryan’s brain short circuited and, for a second, that swelling of expectation faded. “What?” That’s . . . what he wanted to ask?

Shane blinked owlishly and repeated, “Are you okay? You seem out of it, almost like you’re high.” He paused. “You’re not high, are you?”

“Dude, what? No! I’m not high,” Ryan said. “I feel good, though, dude. Like, really good.” Celeste had brought that up before, but it hadn't actually registered. It was a startling realization. “I feel great, even. I never feel great on locations.” His eyes had drifted to the side, but he looked up at Shane now. His breath stuttered when he saw him staring down at him with a soft, concerned expression.

“For some reason, that’s worrying to me,” Shane admitted with a quiet laugh. He flicked his finger at the camera strapped to Ryan's head. “You sure you’re good?”

Ryan laughed in return and felt a warmth swelling in his chest, butterflies battering in his rib cage. “I’m good. I’m a bit hot, but that’s probably because of the cameras. Let’s get back to it and, rather than laughing at your own foolishness, you can laugh at me screaming later.”

Shane laughed again, but this time it was fuller, and richer. Ryan thought, _I did that_ , before the warmth was almost burning hot. He wrote it off to being the camera, but his feelings of happiness lingered as his anticipation grew. Ryan followed Shane back down the hallway, but he kept walking once they reached the elevator. He went up to Lynn and reached into her backpack to grab the spirit box, and then continued onwards towards the low archway. He stood up, and when he saw Shane open his mouth, Lynn cut him off.

“One sec,” Lynn requested, backing up with the camera. “Alright, we’re good.”

“How’re we lookin’, Ryan? Did the phantom haunt your dreams before our appearance here, today?”

“I do not recognize your shitty rock opera references,” Ryan said, exasperated.

“And yet, you understand they are references, so therefore, you do recognize my _wonderful_ rock opera references,” Shane replied, gleeful.

Ryan looked back at Lynn woefully, staring into the camera. “And people wonder why I sometimes threaten to kill him.” He scratched unwittingly at his overheated collar.

Ryan ducked his head under the archway, when Shane said, “Hey!” He snickered to himself and waited for Lynn to walk up. When he went to straighten his back, he realized he couldn’t; the ceiling was too low.

“Great shots, guys, let’s . . .” she trailed off when she looked inside the archway, past Ryan. “Wow.”

Ryan looked down and did a double-take. “Holy shit.”

He currently stood in a three foot hallway, that turned into a wrought-iron landing that looked similar to a fire escape. He took a step onto it and looked down at the stairs themselves. For all intensive purposes, it looked . . . unstable. And if he wanted to, he could probably drop a penny to see how long it would take to touch the ground.

Now Ryan knew why Bella hesitated.

But she would have denied them the chance to go down, right? He took a step down onto the first spiraling stair.

Then another.

Then another.

Then another.

Then another.

Then ran into a problem.

“Lynn, you still up there?” he asked.

“Yeah!” she called back.

“Is Shane?”

“Yeah!” he replied.

“We’re going to have to do solo investigations down there, or you do one down there and this counts as mine! You’re definitely too tall for these steps.” It wasn’t too short for Ryan, but he knew for Shane it would be an issue.

“Come on up, we’ll--” but Ryan didn’t hear the rest of it.

_NO!_

A sharp, piercing thought reverberated throughout Ryan’s skull. Heat rushed to his cheeks and into his forehead, fuzzying his mind. He didn’t know if he was cutting anyone off, but he starting walking down the stairs before he said, “Nah, I’ll get the full immersion. See you guys later!”

And that was it.

Above him, he could hear their voices raise, but it was foggy, almost like there was a barrier between them. His body flushed, heat trailing down his neck and over his arms. It wasn’t actually concerning; instead, a sense of calming serenity wrapped around Ryan like a blanket and he remembered why he was here.

He clicked on the spirit box. It hummed accordingly, but didn’t sound as loud as it usually was. He jogged down a few more steps before he asked, “Is anyone here?”

The light shone through the stair above him, casting an otherworldly glow. It was dizzying, to look up. There was no response.

“That’s awfully rude of you not to respond,” he said. He would never say that. Why would he say that?

There was a clang above him, and his eyes shot upwards, but he didn’t stop moving. “Who are you? How long have you been living in the opera house?”

He continued jogging down the stairs, listening to the spirit box. There wasn’t any response, and his fingers almost sizzled against the cold plastic when he turned it off. _He_ didn’t want to listen to it anymore.

Ryan slowed down his pace and then stopped altogether. It was eerily silent. Above him, the light dimmed.

“Hello?”

Any nerves that twisted in his stomach eased, warmth replacing the cold dread.

He stood there, waiting, for a few minutes. Nothing happened. He started walking again and strained to listen. “I’d appreciate an answer. It’s awfully rude of you not to at least introduce yourself.”

There was pressure pushed down again in his head, smothering his body with heat that wasn’t his own. He felt no fear, however, and clicked on the spirit box. When did he turn it off? “Can you tell me your name?” he asked.

Nothing responded.

He jogged down the steps, trying to listen in on the frequencies, but it was still dull and indistinguishable. Ryan turned it off again; _he_ didn’t want to listen to it, remember?

He should probably be overheating, since it feels like his body’s burning up. He wasn’t really uncomfortable, though. The pressure was soothing and almost comforting, at this point.

Ryan’s mind was blank as he ran down the rest of the stairs.

\--

Shane continued to shoot glances at him from the corner of his eye, but Ryan paid no attention to it.

“This is why Leroux’s testimony wasn’t completely debunked,” Ryan restated. “He knew too many intimate details about the cavern for him to have been just guessing.”

The cavern was wide and lowly lit from where they can see in the newly built foyer. Ryan pulled the new door open all the way and stepped down in the cavern. Fear tried to clog his throat, but it was soon comforted by a warm sensation.

On the far left side was an embedded statue of Poseidon, with his trident made of a stark white marble against stone. Below him was a stream of water, flowing freely through the lower levels of the cavern. To the right was a staircase that led up to several candelabras, and a plain down mattress that really did _not_ look comfortable. Lynn was taking wide shots of the whole cavern and turned the camera towards the door.

Ryan walked down the short, metal ramp, up onto the top of the staircase. “Why don't we do some of our normal gig, and then we can do solo investigations, as you physically can’t walk back up those steps?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Great. Well, this is it.”

“It’s certainly got style,” Shane said.

“It’s weird how Leroux was able to describe the cavern, almost perfectly. He claimed, at the time, it was only lit by those candles.” Ryan pointed towards the candelabras.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, listening to the water trickle, before Ryan said, “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.” He pulled out the spirit box and flicked it on.

“So, I hear we got a ghost in here, huh?” Shane said.

It chittered uselessly.

“It doesn’t seem like it’s working,” Ryan commented.

“It sounds like it usually does,” Shane countered.

“Alright then. Who’s down here?” Heat pulsed down Ryan’s body. “Can you tell me your name?”

Nothing happened.

“How long have you lived in the opera house?” Ryan asked, the noise bothering him. Shane looked at him, and Ryan shrugged. He didn’t know what these looks were for, but he was getting a little annoyed with those, too.

“What do you want with us?” Shane probed.

No response.

“Why don't you just say something? What are you, a coward? Don't want your name to be on screen? I understand, I gu--” Shane froze, and Devon inhaled  sharply behind the camera.

Nothing had happened.

“Did you work at the opera house?” Ryan questioned in place of Shane. He looked up at him and startled at the look on his face. “Dude, you good?”

He seemed to shake out of it. “Did you-- yeah, never mind. I’m good. So I’m wondering,” Shane bellowed, turning his attention back to the cavern, “Ryan here told me some interesting tidbits about what Leroux said about you. That you liked dudes. Now, I’m not about to judge,” he hastily added. A breath escaped Ryan. “I was just wondering, did people respond well to that? In your days? I wouldn’t imagine they would, but worse things have happened.”

There was no response.

“Alright, let’s move on to solo investigations,” Devon said. “Good job, guys. It seems like you might even be able to say you got spirit box action!” she added excitedly. Ryan raised a brow, but didn’t say anything against her.

“Shane first,” he called instead. “I already walked down the steps. Here,” he said, handing the spirit box to him, before walking up the ramp to the foyer. “You can chill in silence, or talk, or both. Both would be preferable.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do this.” Mark handed him his equipment bag and he got ready.

\--

“Ryan, let me out.”

Shane’s voice was sharp, and precise, and Ryan didn’t hesitate to open the door.

“What’s up?” He was discomfited by Shane’s stare; it was blank. His whole _face_ was blank; the only indication something was pissing him off was his thinned lips.

“Let’s. Right.” Shane swallowed. “Let’s go back in, shall we?”

Shane stalked out, back into the cavern, and Ryan shot a glance towards Devon and Matty. “Is this a bit?” he mouthed, but they only shrugged and shook their heads. Great. They didn’t know what was happening, either.

Ryan followed Shane inside and stopped beside him. Heat pulsated under his skin.

“Open your hands. And keep them open,” Shane demanded. Ryan looked up at him, confused as all hell.

“Like this?” he asked, turning his palms upwards and spreading out his fingers. Shane faltered for a second, before nodding and clicking on the spirit box.

“What do you want with us?” Shane asked.

It chattered quietly, almost as if it were muted. It was just like how it was in the stairwell; there was nothing happening. But behind him, Devon gasped, as did Mark, and Lynn let out a quiet, “Holy shit.”

Ryan’s eyes didn’t leave Shane’s. “It doesn’t sound like anything.”

“Really . . . it doesn’t sound like anything?” Shane questioned, his voice hollow, and cold.

Ryan turned around, looking at the crew, but they only stared back, as if confused. Then he looked at Bella.

She looked angry.

"Ryan..." Shane started, his voice strained.

Ryan squinted at him, tilting his head. He was so fucking confused.

"What? Just spit it out!"

“Did-- Did you fix the spirit box?”

The world froze.

His chest burned and he pressed his hand against his heart, the heat licking at his fingers.

He swung his head to look back up at Shane disbelievingly, but he didn’t flinch. He was serious. Shock and fury struck through the haze clouding Ryan’s mind and he _attacked_.

“Dude, seriously?”

“I mean, you were going down the stairwell; you certainly had time to--”

“No, Shane? Fuck yo-- how dare you. How fucking _dare_ you, you know--” he cut himself off. Faintly, he could feel tears prickling behind his eyelids. He turned away, staring at the far end of the cavern. “You know how easy it would be to fake evidence, t-t-to change evidence, to make it look like something is actually there and yet you fucking ask me if I-- _you_ , of all people--”

“Ryan--” he could feel Shane’s anger dissipating, his guilt and repentance growing.

“Go.” He felt dizzy and angry and so, _so_ fucking hurt. His body was on fire.

“Ryan?”

“I said go! We have enough _Shane_ for this episode.”

“Ryan,” Devon implored quietly. He looked back at her, feeling vulnerable. “Stop. If you’re going to shoot--”

“Shane doesn’t have to be here,” he interrupted. “Mark, Matty, fuck, even Bella can intercede and say ‘oh, it’s the fuckin’ wind,’” he said, mocking Shane. “You’re not special, Shane; all you’re supposed to do is add some Scully to my Mulder, and yet, you’re the one who’s insane. Just remember how easy it was to replace Brent.” All he wanted to do was inflict the same pain on Shane as he’d done to him. He didn’t even give him the satisfaction of recoiling. He scoffed to himself and ripped the spirit box out of his hand. “Have fun in Paris; we’re done here.”

Ryan turned away from them and climbed up the few stairs that led next to the mattress. He could hear them conversing, and discussing what to do now. He certainly had no idea. He sat down heavily and put his head in his hands.

Sadness welled up inside him, and he could imagine his emotions overflowing out of his bucket. He imagined droplets of water slinking down the side and wondered if those drips were as cold as they looked, or if they were warm and fresh like tears.

Why didn’t Shane trust him? Had he done something? Did he actually hear something, for once?

And if he did, why didn’t Ryan understand it?

“Hey.”

Ryan lifted his head up to look at Lynn. “What.”

“Hey now, chill, my guy,” she responded.  She sat down beside him. “I believe in ghosts, remember? That’s some awesome evidence you just picked up. It’s a real win for the boogaras.”

“Yeah, some real great fuckin’ evidence,” he muttered. “There’s nothing there. I couldn’t hear a damn word and everyone makes fun of me for picking up weird phrases.”

“Ah, nothing like the good, old fashioned ‘spaghetti’ and ‘apple taters’,” Lynn joked. “Well, now you’ve got full sentences, ghoul boy! Real sentences, that make chronological sense! That’s why Shane’s all ruffled. Because he asked questions and it responded accordingly.”

Even hearing that, Ryan couldn’t shake the feeling of . . . “I just feel so betrayed,” he said, shaking his head. The hair on his arms raised. “He knows I’d never mess with a place just to get evidence.”

His head snapped up when he felt a hand run through his hair. No one was there. The heat that’s been burning him up swiftly escaped him and he shivered, suddenly freezing and despondent. His stomach clenched.

And yet, he was urged to . . .

“Stay with me, here. You and either Devon or Mark. We can finish the episode and we won’t have to worry about coming back.”

She was conflicted. “Are you sure you don't just want to do it with S--”

“No. I really don't.” Ryan didn’t think he’d be able to even talk to him for the rest of the trip. “Let’s just get this done. We have his private session and our joint one; all we need is mine.”

“And you can talk to the editors, to talk about if you want to include . . . what the box said,” Lynn added softly.

“What did you even hear?” he asked, exasperated. "I didn't hear a word."

She hesitated, before re-stating, “‘ _I only want him, not you._ ’ And some other things.”

"Well." He paused. "That's certainly something. Talk to them, alright?"

Lynn stared at him, before nodding and walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have AP exams tomorrow, y'all. Wish me luck. I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! I think there will be one more before the epilogue. Much love! Please leave comments if you enjoyed <3


	6. Fruition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dark past relived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. I will be changing the tags, as this chapter is much darker. Do use discretion as there are non-con elements in this writing, as well as a graphic death and gore.

“Alright, we ready?” Ryan asked. Lynn nodded. Shane left, along with Matty and Mark. “Alright, close the door after the countdown.”

“5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .”

“1.” Behind him, the door slammed shut, reminding Ryan of a closing coffin. “Great, that’s-- that’s not terrifying at all.”

Except it wasn’t. The _finality_ was.

He walked down the ramp and stood there for a second, before sitting down next to a candelabra.

“I have to be honest, right now. I know you’re here.”

The heat was gone, and all that was left was the cold terror encapsulating Ryan's mind. The edges of his vision blackened.

There was silence in the cavern.

“Something is here.”

Silence.

Not even a flutter of warmth. Ryan shivered.

“Some _one_ is here.”

Silence.

It was hard to see anything. Apparently, they rewired the entire cavern so that there was no chance of an electrical fire, but Ryan could barely tell they had switched from candles to light bulbs. _That’d probably be worth mentioning in the episode_ , Ryan noted. The sconces emitted little light, but what little light there was reflected prettily against the statue and stream.

Ryan looked down at the spirit box in his hand. He felt the urge to flick it on, but a more honest, vulnerable side of him wanted to throw it into the water and never walk back in to this damn cavern.

“I’ve got to be honest, dude.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I _really_ do not want to do this right now.”

Silence.

“Christ, what am I doing? I could have sworn I felt _something_ before!” he exclaimed. A second later, the indignation that had arose swiftly left him. “No, Ryan, the only thing you felt was betrayal.” The admission was heavy and cold on his tongue, but heat licked on the underside of his face again, chasing away the cold.

Viciously, he recoiled as fear solidified in his chest, tightening around his rib cage, and slithering around his lungs like a snake. He jumped up as heat continued to linger on his skin, burning against the cold that had settled.

“What the fuck,” Ryan whispered frantically. “What the fuck.” He started pulling at his clothes roughly, he's heating up, he's _burning up_ \--

All of the panic that had been suppressed finally broke through and the air was caught in his throat. The shadows seemed to grow around him and it felt like warm bodies pressed flush against him. Ryan dropped the spirit box and clawed at the camera on his chest anxiously, trying to stop his fingers from shaking so badly. He shouldn’t be here, he really shouldn’t be here--

Except.

_I want you here._

The voice rang through Ryan’s head, clear as a bell and as melodic as a dove’s crooning.

Celeste’s words came to mind. _“That is what he preys upon. Betrayal.”_

And Ryan understood. For a second, he wished Shane was here, even if just say, ‘I told you so!’, but his lingering hurt and pain overwhelmed any other coherent thought.

Invisible finger tips caressed his jaw, sending sparks down his back. His mouth was urged open and he obeyed, the feeling too present to ignore. The lights went out.

Sound echoed around the cavern, distorting oddly, before Ryan realized it was coming from him. On the tip of his tongue, a shock of cold touched him, before it spread down his mouth, through his throat, covering his arms and chest, permeating his body, as a second heartbeat pounded in his chest, and he suddenly knew he was no longer alone.

He urged Ryan to let him control for a little while, and Ryan couldn’t see why he should argue.

\--

Until, he could.

His eyes shot open, only to see nothing.

“Where . . . where are we?” Ryan felt real, but disconnected at the same time. He couldn’t see anything, but he could feel eyes on him. A presence around him. “Where are you?”

 _You’re dreaming_ , he replied. The words seemed to float across his vision, flickering candles in the darkness of his mind. _I’m with you as you sleep._

 _That's not creepy or ominous at all_ , Ryan thought. “Am I actually asleep right now? Like, in my bed? Or are you controlling my body?”

He didn't answer.

The edges of Ryan’s vision shook and he almost shattered the dream. But not quite. “Can you tell me who you are?”

There was no direct answer; instead, the comfortable warm that Ryan was suspended in turned bitterly cold and his vision shuddered again.

Everything about the world, everything about his life, was within arm’s reach, if he wanted to think about it. His family, his show, his . . . his complete feeling of betrayal. That was his final, conclusive thought before he was joined by another. Before he _sang_ with another.

“Did you make me, uh. Sing?”

There was a dull tinkling, like muted laughter that came from another room. _Perhaps I did. Your voice is unique. You’ve been granted ample training, yet you hardly yield yourself the benefits of true practice._

“I don't understand. Is this about my voice?”

He did not get possessed by a ghost, just because he -- it -- liked his voice.

_He is more appropriate. And vaguely._

Then Ryan realized. He was talking to a _ghost!_ Sure, that ghost may be possessing him and everything, but when would he ever receive another opportunity like this again? They weren’t doing anything, as far as Ryan knew. He could ask questions!

“What happened to you? Are you really the ghost of the opera house?”

It was desperately cold, but Ryan clung to his consciousness, refusing to shake.

_Do you wish to know what happened to me? The horrors I have felt? That I have endured?_

Without hesitation, Ryan said, “Yes.”

_Tragedy awaits you, my companion._

The dark veil lifted.

He saw a cobbled road -- felt his head pound, his stomach twist in agonizing hunger.

A woman urges him to open his mouth, to sing. He does.

In a second, he’s being pulled away from the same woman. She’s older, wearier. He looked up at the man pulling him away. Screams hatred in his head at the aristocrat.

The city street bled into a stone chapel, where he crossed himself and knelt to pray. Images of wrinkled skin, puffs of air, and he thought of his dying mother. He was under the opera house and he heard the distant sound of the shrieking soprano celebrating her performance. He closed his eyes, begging for relief, for mercy, for death --

The scene changed and he was older. His voice deepened and his body was a stranger, especially in the presence of other men. He knelt again in the chapel, but for other reasons, harder reasons --

A young man knelt next to him. “Does this bother you?” he asked in French, and no, he didn’t. His eyes were like midnight, dark and deep and mysterious, and he didn’t hesitate to respond, “Not at all.”

Another blink, and he saw the same man, his hair a little longer, and with stars that shone brightly against blackened navy. They weren’t so dark and mysterious anymore. “Do I bother you?” he asked this time, and very softly, his finger caressed praying hands.

“Not at all,” he replied.

The chapel faded away and they were in the dark. Hands entwined together, Ryan felt his heart blossoming with new buds of hope. His companion was falling in love. He focused on the story and blinked when he giggled childishly. “Give me them!” he whispered, his voice high and fond. A box was handed to him and he pulled out a thin piece of wood. He struck it hard against the box and a fire illuminated his love’s face. Delighted, he demanded, “Hurry and hand me the candle!” and he quickly lit the offered wax.

“I’ll light the rest of it,” the man said, and he nodded. Lights flickered on across the room and instead of one dingy candle, several candelabras stood proudly, lighting the deep cavern Ryan had just been in hours(?) before. Pieces of a piano were propped against the highest slab of marble. He laid on a thick down mattress with the man next to him, keeping him warm. There was a soft sound of water rushing next to them, but they were content and dry.

His eyes were closing, but he could hear the man whisper, “I wish I understood how to be with you,” and his eyes shot open.

The scene changed again and --

This wasn’t right.

There was a heaviness behind his eyelids and the man was holding him in front of others. They were celebrating. He smiled, happily oblivious, but Ryan could feel the tension, see other men glaring down at them. He didn’t care. He was successful, he was promoted, he was falling in love --

The man helped him down the stairs and they stumbled properly. He only laughed and collapsed on the bed. He was almost asleep when he felt hands on him.

Intimately, his love touched him and he struggled, though the mead slowed his movements, slurred his words. His love shushed him and delicately kissed him. It was chaste, compared to what his fingers were prepared to do --

Betrayal washed over him and Ryan could only watch and endure along with his companion in this cursed memory, reliving the feeling of being too full, too full, he’s going to _rip_ down the seams --

The scene changed, but it has only been a few moments, and he tilted his head to the side to see men from the party. They were still dressed and they held his love in their arms. They yelled and screamed and sneered and laughed while they ripped off his upper garments and dragged pieces of shattered glass across his skin. Vermillion ran down his arms, a stark contrast against his white skin, and dripped into the water.

His final note was a G and they snickered when they let his body drop lifeless into the water.

He’d be only too lucky if they didn’t notice him.

He was not lucky.

“Who are you?” Ryan asked, his voice silent in the scene. They were about to pounce on him, but no, it wasn’t him. “Please, tell me your name. I know you can hear me.”

_Lucien._

He was shoved open, but it was easier to separate himself from the feeling. He wasn’t experiencing this, Lucien was, and God, Lucien experienced this, _I’m sorry, I’m sorry this happened to you, I’m so sorry_ \--

The feeling vanished and Ryan sobbed into the darkness, “What do you want from me?”

_I need your help. Please. I didn't show you that to make you feel guilty. Only so you could understand._

His voice was different now. It was desperate, and the feeling of loneliness was almost tangible, as if Ryan could touch it.

“What can I do to help you?”

_You’re falling in love._

Shock flooded his system and he swallowed. “Am I?”

Lucien didn’t respond to the question. Instead, he pleaded, _Your life is yours. I will not interfere as long as it is not necessary. Let me feel your love complete and your heart heal. Then, quietly, I only want to move on. I don't want to be trapped in this opera house any longer. There’s a reason why I could touch you, even before I entered your mind. We're connected._

_Please._

Barely, Ryan hesitated. “You won’t take control away from me?”

_Not unless the situation needs it._

“Then, yes.”

Lucien opened Ryan’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left! Thank you all so much for the support! Seriously, this has been so incredible. Keep a lookout soon for the next installment of "The Looming Phantom of L'Opera de Paris"! If you want to stay updated, subscribe to the series, as I will be working on a new work! I had my AP Psych test today and it went pretty well. Can't say I got a 5, but I can hope. As always, thank you so much for reading and leave comments down below! Have a good night/day y'all <3


	7. Celeste's Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fearful goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd.
> 
> As this character's first language is French and I do not speak French, I just wrote it in English as I usually would. But just keep in mind she is supposed to be speaking in French.

Shuddering, Celeste shivered underneath her blanket. The entire opera house was freezing, but now that she’s settled down to go to sleep, the cold just seems to seep into her bones.

One minute, it felt normal. The next, all the warmth vanished, leaving behind only a historic building that was larger than life and emptier than usual.

No one understood why.

Well.

Celeste did.

Celeste shifted, looking down from the top bunk. Her roommates slept soundly. She supposed they would; they wouldn’t sense the lack of energy; they wouldn’t attribute the cold to a haunting, or the loss of a ghost.

They’d never been touched by him.

Ryan crossed her mind.

Was his name Ryan? She could hardly remember. His name didn’t really matter, in the end. Not if _his_ will comes to fruition.

Images of her brother’s frozen face -- his eyes wide but unseeing, his voice loud only for two souls: the ghost and Celeste, the collapse -- flashed before her eyes. She could imagine just how horrible it could be for Ryan, but the only thing she could do is warn him. She can't prevent him from working. After all, this was his job.

She tossed and turned, jittery.

All Celeste could do was hope that he was right -- that he had never been betrayed. That he was loved and trusted. That he was happy.

She was worried, is all.

The small chandelier in the middle of the room flickered on.

She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Damn, she really needed some sleep.

Celeste opened her eyes and stared.

The electric candles continued to flicker merrily.

Pulling the blankets around her shoulders, she sat up. She glanced around at her roommates, checking to see if any of them were awake, but no, it appeared they weren’t.

And then, just as abruptly as the chandelier turned on, it dimmed down and shook.

Celeste jerked back, frightened. “What the--?”

The chandelier swung hard to the right and ripped out of the ceiling, crashing down onto the floor and exposing live wires. She screamed and watched as those wires sparked dangerously, electrical currents sizzling against the hardwood floor. Sparks flew and Celeste stared with wide eyes as a sweater laying on the floor caught fire.

As the realization sunk in, she unfroze.

Celeste through off her blanket and slipped out of the bunk bed, calling, “Patricia! Angelina! Get up, get up!”

“I’m up!” Patricia yelled from behind her. Her bed was the closest to the door.  “I’ll get--” She swung it open. “Fire! There’s a fire!”

On the bottom bunk, Angelina was awake, but unmoving, with a terrified expression on her face. “Celeste?”

She was going into shock.

“We don't have time. Can I touch you?” Celeste asked. Angelina blinked slowly, before nodding. Carefully, Celeste slid an arm under her knees and behind her back, picking her up bridal style. She turned around and wow, smoke was already billowing around the room.

She didn’t let it impede her exit, though, and ran out of the now burning bedroom.

It wasn't so cold anymore.

In the hallway, it was chaos. The younger ballerinas were crying as the heads escorted them away from harm and firemen were running inside with a hose. Performers were evacuating the hallway, single file. Celeste whispered quiet reassurances to Angelina, who had her face burrowed in her neck.

She looked up, as she was walking down the hallway, and froze.

Ryan stood at the end of the corridor. A woman was tugging on his arm, but he didn't pay her any mind.

“Angelina,” she murmured. “I have to put you down. Is that okay?”

She didn’t respond at first, but lifted her head. She blinked blearily at Celeste, before saying, “Yeah, that’s alright.”

Gently, Celeste lowered her knees and helped Angelina keep her balance as she stood up. Instead of focusing on the terror growing in the pit of her stomach, she basked in Angelina’s beauty. Her skin shone like the galaxy, with smatterings of freckles glistening like stars and her hair coiled and curled like the milky way. And when she blinked, Celeste didn’t doubt she knew all of the secrets of the universe.

Then, the moment was shattered. She stepped away from her and, without saying anything, ran towards the end of the hallway. She ignored Angelina’s call of, “Celeste?” and focused on getting through the crowds.

Celeste passed the performers, the firemen, the wandering eyes, everything. And she sent a silent prayer to God, before she stepped in front of Ryan.

She was right to have been worried.

"Go, Devon. I'll be with you soon."

His voice was different. Rounder, with a sharper enunciation on each word. When Ryan interviewed her, his voice was obviously practiced and precise, but not like this. Every syllable was enunciated and perfect.

Devon looked at Celeste, before she said, "I'm going back to the hotel with Lynn. I'll see you soon?"

"Yes."

Celeste didn't look away from him, even when Devon said goodbye to her and walked away.

His shoulders were stiff, and every few seconds, he would roll his shoulders, or flex his fingers, which should have laid limply by his side. His eyes gave _him_ away, though: rather than a friendly warmth, they were burning with a desperate sadness.

She hoped he wouldn’t kill her.

“Why would I want to kill you, darling?” he asked. Any hope she had for Ryan was crushed.

Ryan had been possessed.

She swallowed thickly.

He chuckled. “Shall we reside in privacy? I’ve already created quite the spectacle.”

Celeste looked behind her, at the tumultuous crowd. “Did you start the fire?”

“Uh, uh, ah! Come,” he beckoned, grabbing onto her wrist. His hands were freezing. Ryan pulled her to the right, deeper into the opera house. “We have much to discuss.”

\--

They were under the stage.

Celeste lost track of how many right and left turns they took to get there, but she could tell they were in a room hidden beneath the orchestra box.

She was surrounded entirely by mirrors. Gold-gilded, plain, thick-framed, all different types hung on every inch of wall space available. The tiles were dark and unevenly placed and in the middle of the room, one single candle was lit.  Next to it was a thick, velvet cloth, folded small.

“Take the blanket,” Ryan said. “You must be cold.”

Celeste thought about refusing, but she didn’t even have shoes on. Sadly enough, he was right.

She walked up to the blanket and draped it around her shoulders. Then, she sat down.

Ha.

There.

He smiled to himself.

“Why did you set my bedroom on fire?” she asked without preamble.

Ryan’s face shifted and he almost looked apologetic. “It was a . . . mistake.”

“A ‘mistake’,” Celeste repeated flatly.

“Indeed. It’s been quite some time since I’ve been in a corporeal form and I forgot I couldn’t just manifest my energy from one room to the next.”

Shock rippled through her frame. “I--” She shut her mouth.

“You what?” he asked, moving around the room. He stood a good five feet away from her, before sitting down.

“I didn’t realize you’d be open about you possessing Ryan,” she risked admitting.

He laughed. “You believe Ryan could set your room on fire?”

“I-- Well, no, but--”

“You’re correct,” he interrupted. “Ryan is chaotic and devious, but he is good. Truly good. And in some ways, very innocent.”

“Aren’t devious and good antonyms?” Celeste asked, just to be difficult.

“Yes. I’ll rephrase: Ryan is chaotic and mischievous, but good. His heart is so . . .” he inhaled deeply. “ . . . sweet.”

“How were you able to possess him?” Unless he lied to her, Celeste believed that he wasn’t actually betrayed.

“The man he’s falling in love with doubted him. It . . . actually surprised me,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I wasn’t expecting it. At all.

“I touched Ryan’s mind, because he had stories. Stories of the world, of torture, of mayhem, but also of love, and acceptance. As I urged him, he complied, and gave me something to think about.

“And I’ve realized: I want to move on. I’ve been here for too long. I can tell you what’s hidden beneath this opera house in great detail, and truly, your shows and songs are beautiful, but it’s tiring. I want it to end.”

“So how is possessing Ryan going to help you?” she asked.

He hesitated. “I died under . . . unfortunate circumstances, as you can already surmise. And the only way I can truly move on from this plane is to truly forgive my lover. It’s one reason why I couldn’t possess your brother. Not only had he never been betrayed, but he never had a lover at that time.”

Celeste swallowed. “He was 13.”

He nodded. “He was. I’m sorry about that. It was . . . harder, then. It used to become very dark during different periods of my death. I wasn’t as coherent, shall I say, in thought as I am now. But that does not undo my injustice to you.”

She nodded, but didn’t say anything.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, with just the candle between them.

"Why did you ever try to help me, after stopped my brother from..." she trailed off, not knowing how continue.

"From falling into my grasp?" Celeste swallowed and nodded, not looking up at him. "Well, you intrigued me. I had encountered others before you during my time in this opera house, who I had given advice, but you are the only one I've been able to talk to freely. Why did you accept it?"

"I... I don't know. I was scared of what might happen if I didn't," she confessed.

There was a beat of silence, and he replied, "That's fair..."

It went quiet again.

“So is the last time I’ll ever hear from you?” she asked.

“Most likely. Ryan has your number. I might call once in awhile.”

She realized something. “You never answered my question. How is possessing Ryan going to help you, besides helping you forgive your lover? Like, it’s been awhile. Haven’t you already forgiven him?”

“Yes, but he was murdered before we could reconcile.”

She set out a small ‘oh’ before shutting her mouth. That sucks. That really sucks. “So you have to use Ryan as a conduit to forgive him truly?”

“Yes. For some reason, I can't forgive him in this form.” He closed his eyes for a second. “Ryan’s beginning to wake. I must go.” He blew out the candle. “You have your own lover to return to, as well.”

Celeste flushed. “That’s certainly none of your business.” She pulled the blanket off of her shoulders. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Oh, what’s your name, by the way?”

“You haven’t earned the right to my name, darling,” he said.

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Get me out of here, and have fun doing whatever.”

“I won’t be doing ‘whatever’."

He smiled. 

“I’m going to help Ryan woo his beau.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end of the first installment l'Opera! I hope you all enjoyed! Please leave comments and let me know what you thought! There will be a sequel coming out soon, so keep your eyes posted on that series labeled "l'Opera" as well as checking out my [ Tumblr](https://cleopatraslibrary.tumblr.com/)! So much love my dudes; I'll see you all soon.


End file.
